


The Question

by snakelaces



Series: The Moriarty Files [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drama, Gen, Poetry, Psychopath, Snow Day, Sociopath, did you miss me, moriarty being relatively on his rocker, musings, speech, the moriarty files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakelaces/pseuds/snakelaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a snowy day, a dead man speaks eulogies into the wind.  A poem.  Set in between The Sign of Three and His Last Vow.  Spoilers!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Question

**Warning for a few swear words and a small section of intentional purple prose.**

* * *

The Question

* * *

The sun  
Is just setting  
Its head  
Down to rest  
On pillows  
Of orange  
And purple  
As I crunch my way across this  
Desolate  
Snowy  
Graveyard.  
It's been snowing since morning,  
Tiny crystals  
Falling languidly  
Onto the pristine landscape  
Below  
(Stillness and Tranquility and Perfection in Silence, the whole shebang)  
Like something  
Out of a  _fucking_  movie,  
You know,  
Like the background to  
One of those cheesy  
Romantic scenes  
Where the hero  
Confesses his feelings  
(aww)  
and  
 _Finally_  gets the big kiss  
(And after 2+ hours of waiting, too!)  
Or one of those  
Ridiculously  _tragic_  
Death scenes  
Where the beloved character  
Has their  
Overdone trope of a last line  
Before they finally kick the bucket,  
Though, to be fair,  
Your whole spiel to John  
Wasn't exactly a  
Paragon of originality.  
I'm not even really sure  
Why I've come  
Here  
To your grave  
Now,  
Of all days.  
It's not like you could hear me  
Down there  
Under all those layers of  
Snow  
And dirt  
And wood  
(Nice coffin, by the way,  
The one they buried you in  
The day of the  
Big Sad Funeral.  
I should know,  
I was there.)  
But it doesn't really matter,  
Since you're not  
In a dead-man's box,  
Unless of course  
You spend your free time in the apartment  
Resting inside a coffin;  
I don't know,  
I won't judge!  We're only dead men here!  
But that's beside the point.  
Yes, the point.  
I just.  
Ugh. I hate speeches.  
Too many empty words  
(empty empty empty.)  
I just wanted to tell you  
One thing before  
We resume our little game of cat-and-mouse,  
(And you better appreciate this, since I look like a fucking fool  
Talking into the wind)  
I just wanted to say that  
What we did  
Before  
Back then,  
It was amazing.  
Beautiful.  
And believe me, I don't say that a lot.  
And in case  
It all somehow goes wrong this time  
And it isn't beautiful anymore  
I just feel the need to say  
That  
We were fucking  _glorious_.  
We were like gods  
On our own seperate plane,  
High up  
Above mortal men,  
And yeah, it was fucking amazing.  
And though  
It might have been  
Nice  
And poetic  
To go out in a blaze of glory,  
(À la Romeo and Juliet)  
Poetry is a bore  
And so is death.  
But I digress; It's getting cold,  
I've said my piece,  
And so I lay thee down to rest, at least for  
These next few days,  
Until the grand finale, the big reveal, because there's something I'm just  _dying_  to know—  
I've missed you, Sherlock,  
But did you miss me?


End file.
